Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE KROOMBIT BOYS, by LEX MCLENNAN



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE KROOMBIT BOYS, by                    
First Line: Beyond the broken bloodwoods, over the timbered rise
Last Line: Their whooping and their cooees, their songs of long-dead years.
Subject(s): Animals; Death; Horses; Dead, The


BEYOND the broken bloodwoods, over the timbered rise,
And past the range and river the ghost of Kroombit lies;
And when the bush-winds whisper it seems as though one hears
The echoing of hoof-beats and songs of vanished years.

Wide were the Kroombit paddocks and wild the Kroombit steers,
And fearless were the horsemen whose fame has crossed the years;
They rode the rock-bound ranges and sentinelled the plains—
Kings of the rope and saddle, lean princes of the reins.

Once on an August evening the Kroombit boys came down
To see the wild-west showmen who had swaggered into town;
They sat and smoked in silence along the roped ringside
Until the showmen challenged all folk who dared to ride.

Like greyhounds from the leashes they swarmed across the ring,
And crowding on the sawdust they all began to sing:
"We cut our teeth on leather tough as a bloodwood-tree,
The Kroombit boys are happy, the Kroombit boys are free."

They rode the flaunted outlaws until the showmen cried,
And smoked cigars on horses 'twas claimed few men would ride;
The Kroombit boys were happy and how those boys could cling!
One caught the "untamed brumby" and rode it round the ring.

They stuck like sticking-plaster and how we cheered them on!
Then spoke the old boss showman through a long megaphone:
"Now, gentlemen and ladies, this chestnut horse you see,
I'll back against all-comers in terms of L.s.d.

"No matter what his saddle or what trick he employs,
He won't last ten seconds—but I bar these Kroombit boys!"
The challenge went unanswered, with nothing else to do
We all took up the chorus, the showmen joined in, too—

"They cut their teeth on leather, tough as a bloodwood-tree,
The Kroombit boys are happy, the Kroombit boys are free";
And still on August evenings it seems as though one hears
Their whooping and their cooees, their songs of long-dead years.





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